Love and Lyrics
by kiwigeek
Summary: This is to be a series of fics based on some of my favourite songs. There will be many different couplings, but I expect Ginny will feature in most. R&R!


**Based on TATU's song 'Malchik Gay'. Ginny/Harry.**

I sit with everyone at the fireplace. Hermione and Ron are snuggled together, one barely discernible from the other, their hands locked together. The other two are sat close, looking like they are fused into one. They all chat about the many inches of snow falling outside. I want to throw up.

He looks at me. He is talking, speaking, asking for the fire stoker and my heart flies a million miles high. All I hear is three words that he will never say to me. I pass him the stoker. My eyes do not leave his face. I watch his pink lips move into a smile. A smile. But it is ruined. He goes back to her and kisses her cheek. Those lips are tainted. Bile rises in my throat.

_Handsome_

_Tender_

_Soft_

_Why do you look right through me?_

_Thinking,_

_No_

I stand in the snow, unseen, I can't feel a thing, everything is cold and frozen, heart and soul. I see him crossing the snow to the frozen lake, a smile on his face which spreads to his eyes. A real smile, something he has never showed me. He is alone. My heart, stomach shake and flutter. I feel lightheaded. Now. Now I can talk to him. He is alone.

_I can't deny my feelings,_

_Growing_

_Strong,_

_I try to keep believing,_

_Dreaming,_

_On_

But he turns away before I even step out of my hiding place. I follow his gaze and see her. Smiling a sickeningly beautiful smile, pearly whites and all. She runs to him and he lifts her up so easily, effortlessly. Like a feather. On their faces, smiles, laughs, whispers, kisses. I watch them. Together. And me, apart. Distanced. Sick. I feel soft, warm rivulets of salty tears slowly meander down my cheeks.

_And every time I see you,_

_I cry,_

_More_

_I wanna pull you closer_

_Closer,_

_Closer,_

_Closer_

I see an aura surrounding them. Warmth. A shade of sunset. Crimson. Blood. It stains the snow they stand on. Opposites. Sharp, angular, cold ice inside me.

_But you leave me feeling frozen_

I am awake at night, every night, next to the open window. The dead stabbing cold of winter makes me feel nothing, it numbs the pain inside of me. I don't shake, or shiver or move. If I move it means I am still alive and being alive means more pain. Feeling nothing. Nothing feeling. Feeling pain. The two are linked, paired, coupled. They belong together. If you feel nothing, you need pain. While feeling pain makes you want nothing. Sometimes I'd rather feel pain then nothing at all. Emptiness. I close my eyes. A face, skin, hair. A smell. Then anger. Misunderstanding. And one burning, black hot, vile question mark. Putrid. Three letters. I can't bring my mouth to form them into a word. The word means answers. Answers that I know I will hate. I hate the word. I hate what it means. I hate myself for being this way. For being. Pure black, icy cold hatred.

Out on the window ledge I see a shard of glass. Pale moonlight reflected on it's shiny surface. Snowflakes. I reach my fingers out and clasp it firmly. A weapon. Not like a wand. This can cause real pain. This can make you bleed. I prick my finger on the end and a dot of bright red blood appears, looking out of place against my pale skin. I tip my finger up and the droplet falls onto the snow. Out of place. The glass is my new friend. It doesn't judge. Or love. Or hurt. Or hate. It just is. My new friend can help me. I could use it on him. Revenge. But it's not his fault. I am the one I should be angry at. I should punish myself. Punishment. Pain. Feeling. Concentrating on the cold, I bring the glass down to my leg and press hard. A spillage of scarlet. I don't feel it. I drag the shard slowly along my inner thigh. Meaningful pain. More blood. I see it drawing a picture on my skin. The picture is of a person. The person has glasses. In his hand he holds my love. Perhaps this means he will take me back again. But slowly the red person on my leg starts squeezing his hand into a fist. Tighter and slowly tighter. Until it is gone.

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_I can be,_

_All you need,_

_Won't you please,_

_Stay with me_

When she first came into the picture, I could see something about her. Or perhaps it was something about him I could see. He started acting differently. Change. He didn't talk to me as much, or listen. His time was never with me. It was me. Me. I never spoke. If he was with me, and she was near, I left. Gone. A shadow. Then it happened. All at once. Waterfall. Avalanche. Inevitable. Those words that I cannot utter. Pure hatred. Goodbye.

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_Apologies, might-have-been's_

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_Can't erase what I feel,_

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay_

I never used to be like this. I was normal and I hate it. Sometimes I want to go back to it. Return to it. Forgiveness and a smile. My face wouldn't know what that is anymore. But I've grown to like this new numbness and hatred and emptiness and nothingness. It took me a while, at first I tried to fight it. Now I welcome it. When I wake up, it's there, like a hole inside of me that belongs. It remains throughout the day. It's the nothingness that makes me avert my gaze when I pass people, that makes me stay inconspicuous, that makes me hide the kisses from my friend of darkness. Not because I am ashamed. Because they are mine. No one sees them except me and my shard of glass. Sometimes I want to die.

_Choking back_

_Emotion_

I still wish he would come back to me. He can fill the emptiness. Replace the pain and nothingness with the love I gave him.

_I try to keep on hoping,_

_For a way,_

_A reason for us both to_

_Come in_

_Close_

They are constantly loving each other. Spilling it out into the atmosphere around them. Meshing it into my face, until I can't breathe. Suffocation. But it isn't even love. It's not real. It can never be real. She doesn't belong. My love is real.

_I long for you to hold me,_

_Like your,_

_Girlfriend does,_

_And though my dream is,_

_Slowly fading_

Every second I live is unbearable. Every step, breath, word, blink is wrong. I'm realising this now. I should not be doing any of this. It is all wrong. Bad. If everything I do is not right, maybe I shouldn't be here.

_I want to be the object,_

_Object,_

_Object,_

_Object,_

_Of your passion but it's hopeless_

Everywhere is darkness around me. Sitting by the fire, I don't even feel it's burn. I hear a noise behind me and turn to see the two of them walk past me, smiling like a perfect couple. They speak words to me that I don't hear and then they disappear into the deep black. I cry a pitiful cry and hate myself for it.

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_I can be all you need,_

_Won't you please stay with me,_

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_Apologies, might-have-been's,_

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay,_

_Can't erase what I feel_

_Malchik Gay, Malchik Gay_

What if? What if I stopped? Stopped everything. Stopped the world. Stopped me. The end. It would all end. Parchment sits lifeless on the table near me. A quill. Ink. Dead. Like me. I want to give them my life. I pick them up. They are limp. I start writing, and the words flow out of me, unbidden. I have no control. This is the end.

_I love you._

_I'm sorry._

I walk to the bathroom. It's strange. I don't feel a thing. Not a single emotion. It makes me smile, and my cheeks feel tight, but somehow they welcome the odd sensation. How ironic. I am empty. The bane of my existence flashes before my eyes. Imprinted. I grip the rope tighter in my hand. It leaves an imprint of twisting, intertwined cords on my palm. I have to do this. Something is finally right and I know. It is coarse and scratchy around my neck; just another pain that reminds me of the fact that I am breathing and living and dying at the same time. I'm ready. This is the end.


End file.
